


detritus

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters: Gold Rush!AU [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abstract, Anxiety, Attachments, F/M, Gen, Nerdanel doesn't exactly want to be uprooted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Nerdanel packs up the family home. At least, some of it.





	detritus

A dozen horses. They will take a dozen horses. Nine to ride, three to carry what little baggage they will bring.

 

_But what of our books?_

_No—no books. The family bible, with our sons’ names, perhaps—_

He does not concern himself with books. Half of those that fill the shelves are volumes written in his hand. Does he think he will craft paper from new trees, stretch new hides for binding, and fill them all again? Does he not understand that _there_ in the collected works of Shakespeare Maitimo scribbled something in the margins, and _there_ in the cookery book is a flour-stain from Celegorm’s first attempt at an apple pie, and _there_ and _there_ —

 

_Nerdanel. Cease your fretting._

_Am I to leave my wedding dress to hang in a wardrobe closed off by strangers?_

_Hush, my love. I married_ you _, not the dress._

Still, she is angry. Still, she is pliant. She is like clay—dense and stubborn, yet molded by his hands. He betrayed her with secrecy, yet she will follow. She will follow and follow and follow, and she bore him seven sons to do the same.

 

_Macalaure’s piano!_

_I shall build him another. His songs are in his heart and head—those he carries with him!_

_Will you build_ everything _again, Feanor? Will you build us a new history, too?_

The family of farmers whom Feanor met and trusted that first summer will see to the house. What is not packed away in the attic is free for their use. They were left with strict instructions about whom to watch for, whom to keep away. Feanor will send word by post in advance of his return.

 _We_ will _return, Nerdanel. When we have strength._

_Strength?_

 

But to arrive to parts unknown in November, wearied and with few provisions? Four months at the swiftest, that is how long such a journey takes from Missouri. Wagon-wheels break. Storms fly heavy overhead. To face down the beginning of winter is folly, worse than folly—

_Why such haste?_

_The land is warmer, there. You remember Rumil, the map-maker? He has set up his house in the valley where I would see us build_ our _home. I have many accounts from him, maps and guides, the keys to our future._

She stores her best paints in oilskin wrappings. She does carry a few books—not just the Bible, but also the book of verse that Feanor gave her when they were eighteen and sixteen and fools in love. She packs extra strings for Macalaure’s _cláirseach_. She tucks away a silk scarf that Feanor once draped lightly around her neck—it is the color of fresh red roses, and she tried to shake it away, saying _it is too bright, it does not suit me_ (she wore grey, then)—

Yes. She carries that.

 

_I am angry with you, husband._

He kisses her. His eyes are already shining like the stars that will guide their way.

 _My wife_ , he says. _I know._

**Author's Note:**

> cláirseach = a Celtic harp


End file.
